Aces and thanks

Girl, you're fuckin' up my poetry.
Cause with you sittin' there i can hardly see,
and I'm spittin' here, but i can hardly think...

bout anything but gettin us some coffee to drink,

bout anything but how i'm gettin close to the brink,
of breakin my silence baby and racin' for pinks...

And if we're playin for keeps, i don't plan on defeat,
the way you're rockin' them jeans girl, I'm prepared to cheat...

and i've got aces and sleeves and moves you wouldn't believe,
so i say we should bounce baby and just let your skin breathe...

Cause clothes are over rated, Girl our Souls are naked, and i wanna get to know yours, with no restraints kid...

And I've got plans for when you come undone,
let your legs encase tongues until you're speakin' in tongues,
I'll take you to heaven baby, chase you right up the rungs...

And I'm all about you gettin' yours...
i'm all about kickin mad base behind closed doors,
i'm about tearin up floors, 'bout shakin' up cores,
'bout how we'll keep this up till we can't take anymore...

Until our hips meet, and we face defeat,
of both you and me girl, cause we just made a we...
So sit back and breathe, while i restock my sleeves...

i've got my aces and thanks girl,
now i'll take my leave.

dont think this is done... we'll see where it goes tho.

We're labeled dead peasants while we wax poetic to combat their rhetoric and the evils that spread it.

Fox news doesn't fancy poetry.

I'm presenting to you two separations of self, the motivation of wealth, or the realization your net worth, is worthless... the meaning of life y'all, is purpose.

because people, our country's not sick 'cause of health care, and people aren't poor cause of well fare. We spout hope, or care, as if it's breath of fresh air... but still come up short. As if our system's so worth saving.

and, you've all heard me spittin mother fuck religion, fuck capitalism, shit, all types of -ism... but this is different.

cause we're now talking about intent.

and I've been raised up in the reddest of the red, with a youth full of dread of what may come when i'm dead... But now, me, and some liberated heads, we skip water and bread... because our sacrament is poetry.

(and taken weekly... it expediates sin)

And we rock dread locks and punk rock and have more midnight walks than matched socks... cause fuck it... socks get holes... and watchin the sun hit antelope island before you've gone to bed... y'all, that sun can make you whole.

and that sun shines in the city of salt sometimes and it's shine in the city puts a beat in my heart... and i find my peace with the poetry in the beats, and when the words that i speak move your heart, or your feet. See, I spit, to spread a message. I spit because i'm blessed enough to find diamonds in the rough, of my fellow dead pesants. Of these other Red state residents... Of these poets who wear their prose on their sleeves... and it beats and they bleed... Because they're living for their intent to put beauty into words, to Breathe deep, and spit cures...

without ever once thinking if whoever it helps, is gonna be able to afford it.

Because our country is sick cause of apathy... but passions like poetry are the only hope we see, so come on and hope with me...

And spit cures.